Parent Lock
by angelofthepopcorn
Summary: Sherlock and John are married with a 15 year-old son named Jesse. Multiple chapters, will update very soon.
1. Chapter 1

My bed felt uneasily cold and uncomfortable that night. If I were to say I slept well, it would only be for Dad and Father's sake. They never like when I don't sleep well, but I can't really help it. I probably got it from Father, the restlessness. The constant thoughts running through my head, so fast that it's impossible to even watch them fly, and impossible to analyze them, which in the the case of being Sherlock Holmes' child can be quite obnoxious. I come to realise the particular bumps and folds in my sheets as I do anything but sink into my bed, and it only adds to the impeccable amount of thoughts running through my brain. I see the array of miniature stars outside my window and chuckle to myself. Father despises the solar system, or learning about it at least, so Dad will constantly tease him about it. Not that this is ever anything but flirting in their eyes. John Watson does not ever intend to hurt my father's feelings of course, as that would cause for a much more annoyed response from Father than a mere kiss on the cheek.

The night became stiller through the city of London, but 221B Baker Street did not go quiet in the slightest. I could hear Father doing one of his experiments somewhat quietly in the kitchen downstairs, but this was completely normal. I wondered if Dad had gone to bed after hopelessly trying to get Father to get some rest, and failing of course. That would be the probable option, considering it happens almost every night. Of course they don't fight or anything, because this is too normal for Dad to even get angry.

I sighed to myself as I stared up at the ceiling, 'Shut up, brain,' I whisper as I lightly hit the side of my head. The perks of being Sherlock Holmes' son. Should be a novel. Then again, Father hates novels as he is much more interested in the complexity of nonfictional science and history than anything else. Mostly science. Beside the point of his insane amount of disinterest in fiction, I realise how lucky I am that my light is turned off as well as my laptop, so neither Dad nor Father will know I'm still awake at this hour. Even at the age of 15, they still want me to be asleep by midnight. I can understand why, as Father doesn't want me to follow in his footsteps. He will never admit this of course, as he simply labels it as 'good parenting' whenever it is brought up in conversation, but I think Dad and I both know it's true. I know Father knows I'm smart enough to see past his denial about things, but he likes to pretend that he doesn't whilst still treating me like a child. Dad told me that when they first met, he liked to be the most clever and brilliant one in the room. Needless to say, this hasn't changed in the slightest, so good one on trying to make me seem young, Dad.

To my surprise, I hear footsteps from outside my door and a quiet knock on my door. Quiet enough not to wake someone up if they were sleeping, but loud enough so they could hear it if they were. I shut my eyes quickly, not answering to make it seem like whoever was at the door was free to open it since I was asleep. It was Father, as I could tell by almost hearing his gait when he walked in. He whispered, 'Good-night Jesse,' and kissed my forehead lightly, again not enough to wake a sleeping person up, but enough to make an awake person feel it. Obviously, he knew I was awake, but he knew I was uninterested in talking to him about it, and talking to me didn't seem to be a part of his agenda either. Just a kiss on the forehead, and a wish good-night. It was slightly out-of-the-ordinary for him to do this, since he never actually slept much at all, but tonight I came under the impression he was going to at that moment. Slightly strange, sure, but not completely foreign to my father. He left the room quietly and walked back downstairs, to join Dad I assumed.

I just lay there, restless and constantly thinking. Thanks, Father. Though, what I was thinking about was not his fault at all. I was thinking about the occurrence at St. Bart's that day:

I was in the lab with Father, looking through my microscope that he bought me for my birthday last year. I was looking at his slides that he has created for me from past cases that he had kept. Molly had come in to attempt making conversation with either myself or Father, I wasn't quite sure at the time. She usually appeared happier when she was about to talk to Father, but today she was neither really happy or in her normal mood.

'What are you two looking at?' she asked, as I collected she was trying to create an open conversation. Father ignored her, as he normally does, so I balled up the part of me most like Dad, and said, 'He's working on a case. Footprint analysis. I'm helping and looking at a pollen sample from Sussex.' I didn't talk to Molly much, so she gave a slight look of surprise when I spoke up.

'Oh. Anything interesting, Sherlock?' she responded, obviously attempting to talk to Father.

'He won't respond to you, you know. He doesn't waste his time conversing much during cases,' I said, staring into my microscope. Apparently something I said was rude to her and her brow contorted with frustration. 'He can speak for himself, your father,' she shot back.

'Well clearly that is not something of interest to him, as our conversation,' I gestured to her and myself, 'Hasn't caused him to have the urge to interrupt.'

She sighed and walked away from the table Father and I were sitting at, to look at some other things. I didn't feel satisfied with all I had said and, for some reason, the Sherlock Holmes side of me came out of the shadows and said, 'He is married, you know.' That set Molly Hooper off completely.

'I'm aware of that, Jesse. Why would think that-'

'Because he has the ability to observe, Molly,' Father butted in finally. I smirked to myself as I looked back down at my microscope.

'Well, I, um, I, I have to go,' she stuttered in embarrassment. She walked out of the lab and shut the door loudly. I turned to Father and chuckled.

'Thank you for that, she was bothering me,' I said to him and he grinned.

'She is your dad's and my friend, but she has times of obvious bothersome behaviours,' he replied.

'You sound so official when you said that, but you simply meant she gets annoying when you get too much of her,' I remarked and he chuckled lightly. The only time I heard him laugh was with Dad and me.

'Good deduction, Jesse.'

'I learned from the best, Father.'

What happened at Bart's was usually viewed as a normal occurrence for the Holmes-Watsons, but this time felt different. Molly had never actually been annoyed with me before, since she mainly ignored me and thought the double arrogance from both Father and I would be too much, but this time she actually got upset with how I spoke to her or something. It shouldn't bother me, since things like this hardly ever do, but then again anything can bother someone who can't sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, I hadn't slept at all. Thinking about random occurrences; some from years ago, others from a week ago. I decided getting out of bed at around 9 o'clock would be safe enough for Dad not to be suspicious. Knowing Father, Dad was most likely unaware that I had stayed up past my 'bedtime.' I'm not saying Dad wouldn't find out anyway, of course. I walked down stairs as quietly as I could manage, as to not make it obvious I was awake. I walked into the living room to see Dad reading the newspaper in his chair. Father still asleep I noted, somewhat on default. I sat on the sofa, just in Dad's line of sight.

'Morning. Did you sleep well?' he asked, as I knew he would.

'Um... Not really,' I replied, grabbing my book from the coffee table, The Murder of Roger Ackroyd by Agatha Christie.

'Did you sleep at all?' he asked, looking at me.

'No...,' I said, averting his eyes. 'Too much on my mind.'

My dad sighed, 'Blame your father, then.' I chuckled and he followed two seconds after, like he needed my approval first. He did this a lot, almost as a form of respect.

'Is he still sleeping?' I asked, even though I knew the answer.

Dad nodded, 'He went to bed around 1:30. Had to finish an experiment, he said. He might be awake, for all I know, but he hasn't left our room yet.'

I set my book down on the coffee table again, and walked through the kitchen to get to my parents' room. Father was staring up at the ceiling, completely awake. I watched him for a moment before he spoke up.

'Morning,' he said, pulling the covers off and sitting up. He was wearing his blue pajamas, as he always did around the house.

'Morning. Dad was waiting to make breakfast until you got up,' I responded, leaning against the doorway.

'He's wasting his time, I'm not hungry,' he said, standing up and putting on his blue dressing gown.

I chuckled, 'Thought so.' I walked back into the living room with Father following me.

'Morning,' Father said, kissing Dad on the forehead and sitting across from him. I grabbed my book again and opened it to my bookmarked spot. Dad and Father were kind of just staring at each other whilst having their laptop (Father) and newspaper (Dad), and I would've felt uncomfortable if they didn't do this all. The. Bloody. Time. You see, my parents work like this: They are both quite sophisticated and orderly most of the time, except when Father is on a case and he takes on this completely buisness-like temperament. But, when Father has no work and the three of us are just sitting around, the two of them become the most obnoxiously romantic and sweet people in the entire country to one another, and they aren't shy when it comes to me being around to see it. I caught them one day just kissing playfully in the kitchen whilst Dad was making dinner. I sighed and left the room. This particular day, they literally defined the phrase 'eye contact' for me, and that wasn't something I needed to have defined.

To avoid awkwardness, I stared down at my book. Chapter 22. I finish books so quickly that Dad has just set 20 pound notes around the house for me to find in order to buy myself new books. One day, I wanted to buy the Harry Potter series, and I was so keen on it that I ended up finding £100 in one day, before heading out to the bookstore. It's much more of a challenge when Father hides them, but he always tells Dad to do it because I think Father secretly wants me to read as much as I do, despite his hatred for novels. He doesn't say this, as he pretends that he is more interested in experiments than hiding money for my amusement.

Out of what seemed to be nowhere, Dad asked, 'Either of you hungry? I can make breakfast.' To which Father replied with, 'No.'

Dad sighed slightly and looked at me. I nodded, 'Starving.' Dad looked slightly glad that I had an appetite, since I ate very irregularly. He then walked into the kitchen to prepare breakfast, leaving Father and I in silence. He was typing up what appeared to be an email and I continued to read my book on the sofa.

After a few moments of silence throughout the entire flat, Father turned to me, simultaneously shutting his laptop.

'What is it?' I asked, looking up slightly from my book.

He sighed, 'Jesse, there is something you need to know.' I was confused instantly.

'What do I need to know that I don't already?' I shot back, scared of what he was going to say.

He looked over to Dad for a moment, who was leaning against the doorway. Something I didn't realise that I do exactly the same.

'Your father and I are having another kid,' Dad said, looking over at Father.

What. The. Hell. I quickly made an attempt to collect my thoughts, 'What?!' That was all I could muster together.

'We're going to get another surrogate mother and have another child. You're going to have a younger sibling, isn't that exciting?' Dad responded.

'Well, sure, I guess. But, when did this idea even begin to come about?' I was trying to sound nicer about it, but there wasn't much to do when your parents throw something like this at you.

'We've been talking about it for about 10 months now. It wasn't something we just thought of out-of-nowhere,' Father tried to comfort the situation, noticing that I was flustered.

'I-I don't know what to say. Why now? Dad is finally recovered after what happened and now you're just going to make it more complicated?!' I stood up, angry at how calmly my parents were taking the situation.

'Jesse, we-' Dad tried to walk over and comfort me, but I pushed away.

'Why are you doing this to yourselves?! Dad still gets nightmares of when Father was gone! You have to stare at eachother just to know that the other is still there. Do you really think that you should bring another child-no-baby into this?!' I was raising my voice. The second after I said what I did, I regretted it, but I wasn't apologising at that moment.

Dad and Father stayed silent, staring at me with wide eyes. I was born a year and a half after Father came back from faking his death, and even 16 years later, Dad wasn't completely mended. I stormed up to my room and my parents just watched me. Maybe I overreacted, but at that moment I stopped analyzing my every word, and I just shoved my face into my pillow after slamming my door.


	3. Chapter 3

I was sitting up in my bedroom, completely ignoring the fact that my breakfast was probably ready and waiting for me downstairs. I was so pissed off at my parents that food was put in the back of my mind. What I couldn't seem to fathom was 'Why?' Why did my parents choose a time when, not only would I be an adult by the time the child was two years old, but also when Dad was finally recovered from his PTSD. I wasn't thinking the child would bring it back, but he was still shaky and not ready to go through the stress of dealing with a baby.

As I lay down on my pillow, completely done with the world, my mind started to wander to other things. Mainly to the book I was reading, and wondering if my theory was correct-which it, most likely, was. My thoughts were interrupted by someone knocking on my door.

'What, in the name of Odin, could you possibly want?' I said, referencing the Nordic god, as I am not religious and do not make religious references. So, I replace my words with characters of people I have read about, rather than saying 'God.'

Father opened the door, now dressed in a purple shirt and jeans. He sat on my bed, and I turned over onto my back whilst sitting up slightly. 'I'm sorry for what happened. Your dad and I just thought that it was time to bring in another person into the family and-' he was trying to genuinely apologise, but I was so angry to a point where interrupting an apology was not something I was against doing.

'Father, use your logic that I am well aware you have. Dad literally just got better from his PTSD and now you and him are both bringing more stress into the equation. That's like healing from a sunburn, only to go out into the sun again to burn the raw skin. Why would you do that, unless you're trying to just cause more pain?' I said, much more calmly than I had earlier that morning.

My father sighed, 'We were seeing a child as more of a mending process for him, rather than extra stress. Is that all you see children to be, stress?'

'Well, I, I just thought,' I was actually speechless. I never thought of it like that. Is that all I see myself to be to my parents? A burden who simply brings stress unto them? 'I suppose, maybe,' I spoke after contemplating it more.

'Jesse, your dad and I didn't have you 15 years ago because we thought it to be a stressful burden. We thought about the hard work, sure, but the other reasons over weighed that. Your dad and I love each other, and we love you. We have made it work well for 15 years, and I can't see how we could do something wrong now,' Father almost never got sentimental, but when he did, you could tell he meant every word. 'Why were you so against the idea, anyway? It couldn't just be concern for your Dad's health.'

I hadn't thought about it very much, but I only had to for about five seconds before knowing the answer, 'I don't want to be treated like a lesser because you and Dad will be giving the baby more attention.'

Father sighed, 'Come with me.' He stood up and looked back at me, 'You need to come speak to your dad.'

I followed him hesitantly downstairs to the kitchen where Dad had set two plates (one for me, and one for him). He hadn't started eating, like he knew Father was coming back downstairs with me.

'Jesse, what did you tell your father your reason for getting so upset was? I'm curious,' Dad said, almost therapist-like. When my parents were living casually (which counts as doing cases), they treated me like a normal teenager. But in the moments after a fight, they turned into these therapist parents who worked as a team more than ever to resolve it. They would do anything to make the plan work perfectly.

'I said,' I began, knowing this procedure, '"I don't want to be treated like a lesser because you and Dad will be giving the baby more attention."' In these situations, I tended to just quote myself.

Dad sighed and stayed silent for a moment, but he looked concerned. 'Why would you think your father and I would treat you like a lesser?'

'It's statistically more likely for the older child to have to be more independent than the younger,' I shot back, somewhat defensively.

Dad knew this, I assumed. He is an older sibling. Aunt Harry was much more spoiled than him, even now. My assumption was confirmed when Dad said, 'Can't argue with that... But, do you really think that we,' he gestured to Father and himself, 'would do that to you?'

'I'm not sure you want the answer to that, but in all honesty, I think it is a possibility,' I admitted, averting my parents' gaze.

Father was observing, as he tended to do, and Dad just stared at me. He finally spoke up after a few slightly awkward moments, 'Your father and I will talk about this more. I'm sorry for making you so upset.'

Why was he apologising? I thought. If anything, I should be the one apologising and then being shunned to be room. It didn't make sense, Dad's politeness to me.

'Yeah, right, thanks,' I blurted out. It wasn't that I didn't forgive Dad and Father, it was that I was angry at myself. It's my fault I am so insecure, I thought. 'But, one more thing,' I said.

'What is it?' Dad and Father spoke in unison.

'Who is the surrogate mother that you found?'

'Um...,' Dad stuttered, 'Molly Hooper.'

My eyes widened, 'WHAT?!'

Father finally spoke up, 'She has been close to your dad and I for a very long time, and she wanted to help.'

'Are you not aware that she has been trying to shag you for as long as I can remember?' I said, a bit too matter-of-factly.

Dad and Father just stared at me, completely speechless. I, once again, regretted what I said, but it wasn't completely untrue either.

'I-I didn't mean that,' I lied. I was standing up, looking at the table in embarrassment.

'Jesse, just sit down and let us talk to you,' Dad said, gesturing towards my seat. I took a deep breath and followed his instructions. My hands fell into a triangle position under my chin as I swallowed in nervousness.

'Why her, though?' I asked, more calmly this time. My surrogate mother was named Julia Abernathy, and my parents were not 'close' with her at all.

'We asked, she volunteered. We thought it might be a good choice on our part,' Dad explained.

I sighed, 'Just, please, just think about this more. I'm sorry for overreacting.

My breakfast went uneaten that day. As well as my lunch. Too much on my mind.


	4. Chapter 4

It was the next day, and Dad and Father had done almost nothing but talk to each other. I just read up in my room, cooped up in my little corner where I read most of my books. It consisted of about 10 pillows, a sleeping bag, a sheet to cover it up, and a small lamp. I was serious about my comfort whilst I read. I thought about nothing but the last chapter of The Murder of Roger Ackroyd because I was right about my theory. Sheppard had done it, and I knew that was the only possible solution. I had started to read a new book, Looking For Alaska by John Green, but I wasn't very far into it.

All of a sudden, there was a knock on my door, 'Come in,' I said loud enough for whoever was outside the door to hear me from the opposite side of the room.

It was Dad, and he walked into the room and sat on my bed, 'Come here,' he gestured over next to where he was sitting. I got up out of my reading corner and sat next to him, looking at him. I was, not surprisingly, taller than my Dad. He is 5'6". 'I need you to be honest with me when I ask you this,' he said, and I nodded in agreement. 'Do you want to have a younger sibling?'

I sighed, knowing the answer as I had been thinking about it since the second Father told me. 'Yes, I think so,' I said, 'As long as I don't have to change diapers.'

Dad chuckled and smiled at me, 'Okay. Good to know,' he said. 'Your opinion matters in this too, you know.'

'I know, I'm not an idiot,' I teased, nudging Dad in the side lightly.

He laughed and put one arm around my shoulder. 'Just to humour me, would you rather have a younger brother or sister?' he asked.

I hadn't thought about that much, but I knew an answer, 'There are many more variations in gender than that, Dad. Their gender is something they will find out for themselves. I just want them to be happy.'

Dad smiled at me, 'You are going to be the best big brother ever, I swear.' I smiled back.

'I try my best,' I remarked snarkily, but he knew that I was saying 'Thank you.'

Father came and knocked on the slightly open door of my bedroom, and Dad and I both looked up and smiled at him. Father smiled back and sat next to me, reaching his arm across my shoulder and quite obviously pecking Dad's hand. There was a few moments of not-so-awkward silence, before Father said, 'The Holmes-Watson's, becoming a family of four.' Dad and I didn't have to say anything for Father to know that we were happy.

We sat there for a while, just as a family. No yelling, no anger, no upset of any kind, just a family of three people who love each other. That's what it came down to. Having another kid wasn't stressful, they chose it because they love each other and because they love me.

To break the silence, Father said, 'Either of you want food?'

'God, yes,' Dad and I said at the same time. I may not use religious references, but I hadn't eaten in over 24 hours, and I needed some food, so my use of fictional characters was not on my mind at that moment.

'Dim Sum?' Father asked, quite enthusiastically. I loved seeing him so happy about something, since it was something rare to see.

'Sure,' I said, since I had acquired Father's taste for Chinese.

'That was where we had our second date,' Dad said, mainly towards Father.

'Angelo's being the first,' Father replied. Angelo's was a restaurant that closed when I was about five. The owner passed away.

'Alright stop flirting, let's go get some dinner,' I said, looking at both of them.

We were sitting down at Dim Sum, eating and Dad and Father were talking about the baby. I loved hearing them both so happy, no matter how cliche that may sound. Father only expressed emotions towards a very small range of people, his child, or soon to be children, and his husband being the main people. So, when I got to see him be so happy about something, it was quite the experience. I smiled to myself whilst eating my fried rice, just listening to them talk endlessly. The current topic being the name possibilities. Father liked Thomas or Emily, Dad liked George or Abigail. I wasn't listening very closely until the idea hit me.

'Dad, Father, I know what to name the baby if they are a boy,' I said, making my parents turn their attention straight to me, instantly making silence from both of them. They raised their eyebrows in curiousity.

'Let's name him Hamish,' I said.

**Tell me what you guys think of this chapter! I'm writing as frequently as I can, and I hope you are enjoying it. How do you feel about this** _cliffhanger?_ **Also, sorry this chapter was shorter than the rest, I just had to torture you guys with the cliffhanger.**


	5. Chapter 5

**This chapter is long, to make up for the last chapter being so short. There is a time jump, and Jesse is now 16, hope you enjoy!**

9 months and 2 weeks later

I was sitting in the waiting room of the hospital at 12:18 A.M., on January 24th and, to no surprise, I was waiting for Molly to go into labour. She had been in the room for about 2 hours, but there were still contractions coming. Dad had been in and out of the room, just to be sure she was okay and because the doctor side of him always wanted to help people, especially friends. Father went in there much less frequently, mostly sitting outside with me in the waiting room, but he would go in to check on Dad and Molly. I hadn't gone into the room at all.

I was becoming more tired the more I sat in the uncomfortable waiting room chair and even though Dad and Father said it was fine for me to leave, I didn't want to. I wanted to see my baby, as we had found out about five months earlier, brother come out of the hospital room and I wanted to greet him into this mostly idiotic, but somewhat wonderful world. I didn't say this to my parents, but they were still happy I wanted to stay, despite my increasing exhaustion. To fight my tiredness, I decided to walk around the hospital.

'I'm going to the lab, I'll be back soon,' I said to Father, who was sitting next to me in the waiting room and typing something on his iPhone. He nodded. I would have walked around the depressing parts of St. Bart's, like the cancer ward or the emergency room or something, but I was trying to keep my vibes up considering my baby brother was about to be born. So, I went to the lab, taking the painfully empty elevator there.

The door opened to the familiar floor that I had gone to with Father, Dad, or both of them and spent hours just staring at different slides. It fascinated me. I opened the door and, as I suspected, no one was in there. Thank god. The only reason I was allowed permission in here was because of my parents and Molly, so I took advantage of that as much as I possibly could. I walked over to my microscope that was in the same spot as it always was, never touched by the people who worked in here. I had my slides from Father, as he always made them for me after every case. I looked at one he made for me when I was 8, I sample of brick dust from Brighton when we all went there for a homicide case involving eight people. I always loved this slide because it reminded me of the intriguing murder case that I got to help Father and Dad with slightly and also because it was around the time Father started to make me slides to look at from closed cases. Sentiment, Father would call it.

The brick dust has little white speckles in it, which I remember Father, later in the case, found out was bits of Styrofoam left by the murderer's footprints. I always thought that to be hilarious since, who the hell would think of Styrofoam to be something you would find in a murderer's footprint? You might suspect blood or drugs or poison, but Styrofoam, no. I looked closer at the tiny white speckles, they were random sizes and shapes, and they had a certain texture to them that looked very strange, but not abnormal for something like that.

When it came to my microscope, I could sit there for hours and be exhausted without even thinking about sleep. This time at the lab, I sat there for an hour and a half, staring at all these different slides from my childhood and early adolescence. It was mostly for sentiment, but also slightly out of sheer fascination at these different particles and organisms. When I finally brought myself to look at the clock, I realised I should probably head back to the maternity ward to make sure my parents knew I was okay.

I came back into the waiting room where there was no sign of my parents. Both of them were in the room, I assumed. Out of curiosity, I went to go peek into the room Molly was in for a moment. What I saw was not surprising, but not particularly something I was interesting in watching either; my parents were both standing by Molly who was breathing rapidly and sweating a lot. Obviously she was in labour, but I didn't know how long this had been the case. That point set aside, I wasn't interested in watching this any longer so I walked back over to the waiting room and sat there in silence for a time period I didn't care to measure.

I was half-asleep in my thoughts before Father tapped on my shoulder lightly. I shook my head and turned to him. 'Hamish is all cleaned up, you can go see him if you want,' he said, his voice lighter and happier than normal, but he wasn't smiling. I nodded with a slight smile across my face and I got up from my chair to go to the room. Dad was holding my baby brother in a blue blanket, smiling at him. I saw this pure love in his eyes, the same way he looked at Father when Father wasn't looking back. It was one of the best things I've ever seen, probably for Father as well.

I walked over to my Dad quickly, smiling big. 'Hello, little Hamish,' I said quietly to my little brother, looking down at him tiny face. He wasn't crying, but I didn't know if he had been before I came in. Dad looked up at me and was still smiling, but I only saw him from my peripherals, as I was now looking down in awe at Hamish. There was something about the miracle of human life that just amazed me sometimes, and the fact that my parents and Molly put work into making this particular human exist, was almost magical. I gently ran my thumb across his forehead, and his skin was so soft. I couldn't stop staring at my brother until I realised how much time I was spending looking at him and not talking to Molly or anybody for that matter.

Molly appeared to be talking to the nurse, but I walked over anyway and waited until they were done talking. 'Hi Jesse,' she beamed. Even after being in labour for hours, she was still so bright and happy.

'Hello. You doing alright?' I asked, smiling back at her.

'I suppose, very tired though,' she chuckled lightly and her eyes fluttered in exhaustion.

'I'll let you rest then, you've been through a lot tonight,' I said, patting her shoulder softly. She nodded and shut her eyes, her head turned to the side on her pillow. I walked over to Father, Dad, and Hamish. Father was holding Hamish now and Dad was kissing Father above my brother's face. I finally found a moment to look at the clock, 2:47 A.M. I interrupted Dad and Father's kissing to ask, 'Can I hold him?'

'Of course, just be careful,' Father said, handing Hamish over to me slowly, but not hesitantly. I took him in my arms, and at this point had completely forgotten that I was tired. Dad and Father had their arms draped across each other with their foreheads touching as I stared down at my baby brother. He had Father's eyes, which I had not been lucky enough to get myself, as I got Dad's deep blue-green eye colour. I didn't notice that my parents were looking at me and smiling as I stared at Hamish. Father started to cry and he held onto Dad, which was rare, but not shocking in these circumstances. My brother looked pretty incredible, even with almost no hair on his head. I stood there for a few minutes before realising we did actually have to go home and Hamish had to go to sleep in the hospital nursery. I put him down on the little tray thing they had set for him next to Molly's bed and walked out with my parents.

'I get to keep the credit on the name, just so you know,' I teased. Dad chuckled and nodded slightly, clearly exhausted. Up until then, I hadn't realised how tired I really was. When we got in the cab to go back home, I leaned on the side of the cab, Father leaned on Dad's shoulder, and Dad leaned on the other side of the cab. We would be back to the hospital tomorrow to visit Molly and Hamish, but tonight we needed to sleep. Desperately.


	6. Chapter 6

**This chapter is short, and I apologise for taking so long to update.**

We went back to the hospital around 10 A.M. the next morning, and I was still slightly out of it from staying up until almost 4 A.M. the night before just because I was thinking so much about Hamish, hoping that he was sleeping soundly in that nursery filled with a bunch of other sleeping babies. But, Dad wanted us to get to Bart's early to see my baby brother. Father was fine with seeing Hamish early, since having little sleep was something he was used to.

Molly was awake, but I knew she was tired. Hamish was laying in his little tray thing. I walked over to him and picked him up slowly, 'Hello Hamish,' I said quietly, looking down at him. Molly noticed me and turned her head towards me.

'Morning,' she said calmly and in a tone where I could hear the tired.

'Morning,' I said back, but I was still looking down at my brother. I noticed in the corner of my eye that my parents had walked over to Molly's bed and began talking to her.

'You doing alright? You must be exhausted,' I overheard Dad say, and I turned my head up at this point, still holding Hamish.

'Yeah, I'm fine. They let me sleep until I woke up, only because I told them to last night,' Molly replied. They continued to have small talk about the hospital life and then Father's galaxy eyes as I call them, caught onto mine from across the hospital bed. He had a very small grin on his face and even though he wasn't enjoying the small talk, I knew he was happy to be there. He broke our gaze and stared at the floor. Awkward, hell yes, but the reassurance that my father really did care was always nice. My father then put his arms loosely around Dad's waist and Dad was obviously pleasantly surprised since he began to smile whilst continuing to talk to Molly. I walked over to Father and handed him Hamish silently, and I saw a slight glisten in his eye. He took my brother in his free arm and Dad glanced over at them, smiling.

I was getting bored since I didn't want to engage in small talk, so I texted Father to avoid interrupting their conversation. The text read, 'Going to the lab, be back in half an hour. JHW'

He didn't respond in text, but he looked over at the door where I was temporarily standing before walking away, and nodded with a smile.

I walked (and took the elevator) to the lab and did the same as I had the previous night. No one was there, and I wasn't quite sure why, but that didn't matter. I became lost in my slides, staring at anything from toilet paper to sodium chloride (salt) to sand. I smiled at the sight of many of them, just for nostalgia and sentiment's sake. The memories flooded back into my head from the past eight years of when my father started to make the slides. I guess I was still adjusting to my new life as 'the older brother,' and that was completely new to me. Remembering my childhood might have helped in my copin to having split attention from my parents now. Even still, I loved Hamish and as I thought more and more, I knew I was going to like this one change.

**This is the end of Parent Lock! I hope you guys liked this story because I loved writing it. I will post more stories soon. Bye!**


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